


Sovereign

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self control can destroy you.  Charles and Erik on the beach and before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sovereign

_Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power._

~Alfred Lord Tennyson 

He squirms from pain, bright sun streaking and flashing in his eyes until Erik’s hands are around his shoulders, the other man’s flushed (helmet covered head) face blots out the scalding white and yellow. Things slow – Charles wants to weep for the overused and overdone cliché, but oddly enough, it happens regardless – and he can feel the tears that run unbidden and unwanted down his face. He can see Erik’s burning red eyes and the blue of the irises jump out at him, an imprint, a photograph, a picture that emblazons itself on his heart and mind for what he assumes will be the rest of his life.

_….we want the same thing._

Charles opens his mouth but then pauses an infinitesimal amount of time

**Rewind**

The bookcase behind him is hard as is the body that shoves him into it.

The children are out doing something, making noise and drawing unwanted attention to themselves he’s sure, but at this second Charles doesn’t care. He laughs and winds a hand, plump strong fingers, in Erik’s hair, tugging the other man’s head toward his for another rough kiss that has his laugh drifting much darker. The clock strikes a late hour, the shadows from the full moon outside drifting and moving with the motion of the wavering curtains at the window.

“Aren’t you cold?” he murmurs against Erik’s lips, and Erik’s answering smirk is enough to make Charles roll his eyes. “Ah. Just showing off, I would wager.”

The windows close with a bang, Erik’s eyes canting to them quickly, and then he pushes at Charles’ thick sweater and shirt, his (yes) ice cold hands drawing shivers from Charles and once again the embarrassing moan of the other man’s name, a tiny murmured sound of pleasure Charles didn’t know he could make.

Both of them are half undressed and hard when Charles comes to his senses.

Control. Order. One thing at a time.

_Shaw, Shaw, the children, the safety of the world, good God_

“Wait, Erik, stop,” he pants through fat lips, eyes blurry with desire, blue on blue and Erik cocks his head, hands on Charles’ shoulders, the belt Charles wears still slowly coming undone with a thought. 

“Why?”

Erik’s voice is soft, but there is no hint of confusion or worry. The question is just that, a question. 

_Why on earth would they stop something that is obviously pleasurable to them both?_

“Because,” Charles sighs as Erik’s thought rolls to him and pulls away, a few hairs catching on the bookshelf, _pinging_ as they break. “Because, Erik, this isn’t the right way to go about this! I want…I want us to take our time, to make it right.” He puts up a hand as Erik’s querulous thoughts wind their way into his consciousness again without the other man meaning them to, he’s sure. “Do you want this?” He turns to look at Erik, eyebrows raised.

Erik’s face is impassive as it always is, but his hair is mussed and his shirt is open. The light from the moon hints at the red in his hair; he crosses his arms and waits, stolid, quiet. “Yes,” he answers simply. “What’s the problem here?”

Charles stares with wide eyes at Erik as he puts a hand to his temple and Erik’s eyes narrow – he frowns and Charles winces.

“Let me in,” Charles whispers. “It’s easier this way. I can show you everything you need to know. We need to wait, Erik, and I can show you why. Just trust me. Trust me to show you why it’s important, why it’s the right way. I want this to work, correctly. But it won’t if we don’t give it _time_. Just…trust me, and let me show you.” His whole life has been a series of things he’s done, mostly in weird order and he’s learned the hard way that it takes discipline and control –

Maybe his mother would love him if he did this the _right_ way this time. Maybe Cain wouldn’t hit so hard – 

“Tomorrow is the biggest challenge I’ve – we’ve ever faced. Isn’t this worth getting through that first for?” Charles’ voice is a dinky sound, a tiny scratch of nails at the door. _Let me in._

Erik’s narrowed gaze flinches imperceptibly; he’s remembering the moment with the satellite as Charles can now clearly see as though it were happening again. He tries a small smile and the best _trust me_ push he can produce. Erik’s mouth is a thin line. “Fine,” he grits out at last. He uncrosses his arms and raises them palms up, questioning, wondering, annoyed and waiting. Charles sighs and takes the few steps that separate them. He touches Erik’s temple – not really necessary for his gift to work, but he wants the contact and yes, it amplifies the powers some – and closes his eyes.

**Forward**

Charles cries silently and says the only thing he can, now, though he’d rather rip out his own brain and forgo his powers if it would only give them a chance, a damn chance, a moment to try and have what he hadn’t given them an opportunity to have. No matter that everything in his life had told him it was better to slow things down, to wait, to do things right and to not compromise your life or your time with multiple things at once – especially the ones that were important. 

And this one was oh so important. Or had been, when they’d had the chance to make it last. When he’d had a moment to tell Erik that he was the other part of him, the part he hadn’t known was missing from the chess board he’d played both sides on his entire life. Ridiculous thought, even now, but Charles doesn’t care. He can think everything he wants to about Erik now, because that’s all he’s going to have because _he_ gave up the opportunity to make something in his life matter, despite it being a _bad time_ or not the right moment. And now Erik has chosen something Charles just cannot agree with, and he damns himself inside a thousand times for not seeing it before. And now it’s too…he feels the acid burn in his throat as he thinks _too late._

_My fault, this time. Again._

“Oh my friend,” he says, after wetting his lips. _oh, my only friend. My best of friends._ He swallows, _are you sure about this, Charles?_

He’s sure, deadly sure. No time anymore, never any time at all, after all. No right time for anything. Erik has made his choice, no matter what they both might want, just as Charles has made his. It’s too late.

“We do not.”

Pages flip, his life, a book, things spiraling in perfect order, one thing at a time, one concept, one conquest, one assignment, one job, one thing that mother or stepfather or Cain wants so do it right and don’t mess it up, one perfectly wanted relationship – wait.

That last one never occurred, because he was waiting for the time when things would settle down and he would have time to make it right and do things the _right_ way.

Time.

Right.

Erik’s face cracks for a brief moment and Charles wonders if…

The mask is there, fitting perfectly under the new helmet and Erik waves at Moira to come and take his place holding Charles up, who has begun to writhe with pain again. The warmth of the familiar grip leaves, the cold pliableness of Moira’s hands rubbery and strange and Charles wants to call out _Erik, I was wrong, let’s take the time now, now_ but Raven is there and he has no choice but to say goodbye to her as well.

It’s too much and he cries again as soon as they’ve left and he can’t feel his legs and the looks on their faces –

He can’t feel his legs.

He can’t feel the frantic slamming of his heart either and he can’t feel Erik anymore.

Time.

Right.

He bites his lip, propriety be damned, and the scream that breaks from him as the boys and Moira try to move him makes the world shudder with its sound.

No more life lessons. No more right, or scheduling or remembering what he could have had, if he’d only thrown caution away. He smiles.

He knows things won’t change because he knows himself, even though he can wish till the end of time –

He passes out as the children that are left argue about how to take him off the damn beach as Moira yells for help into her cans.


End file.
